Lines of Blood
by Sydrian4EVER
Summary: What would happen if Sydney Sage was the Moroi party girl and Adrian Ivashkov was the human rule-abiding Alchemist? If Christian Ozera was the king of the Moroi and his illegitimate younger half-brother, Joel, is being sent into hiding? Would things go differently?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I've started a new story! YAY! I always wanted to see what would happen if the genders were switched around. Sydney Sage is now a Moroi party girl and Adrian Ivashkov is the human rule-abiding Alchemist. Everyone is the opposite sex. I always thought that maybe if Adrian was the human then he wouldn't be able to hold out as long as Sydney did… okay maybe I just wanted to write more Sydrian.**

**Now the first chapter is the same as Bloodlines but it will change very much as the story progresses.**

* * *

I couldn't breathe.

There was a hand covering my mouth and another shaking my shoulder, startling me out of a very heavy sleep. A thousand frantic thoughts dashed through my mind in the space of a single heartbeat. It was happening. My worst nightmare was coming true. _They're here! They've come for me_!

My eyes blinked, staring wildly around the dark room until my mother's face came into focus. I stilled my thrashing, thoroughly confused. She let go and stepped back to regard me coldly.

I sat up in the bed, my heart still pounding.

"Mom?"

"Adrian. You wouldn't wake up."

Naturally, that was her only apology for scaring me to death.

"'You need to get dressed and make yourself presentable," she continued. "Quickly and quietly. Meet me downstairs in the study.'"

I felt my eyes widen but didn't hesitate with a response. There was only one acceptable answer. "Yes, ma'am. Of course."

"I'll go wake your brother." She turned for the door, and I leapt out of bed.

"Joey?" I exclaimed. "What do you need him for?"

"'Shh," she chastised. "Hurry up and get ready. And remember—be quiet. Don't wake your father."

She shut the door without another word, leaving me staring. The panic that had only just subsided began to surge within me again. What did she need Joey for? A latenight wake-up meant Alchemist business, and he had nothing to do with that. Technically, neither did I anymore, not since I'd been put on indefinite suspension for bad behavior this summer. What if that's what this was about? What if I was finally being taken to a re-education center and Joey was replacing me?

For a moment, the world swam around me, and I caught hold of my bed to steady myself.

Re-education centers.

They were the stuff of nightmares for young Alchemists like me, mysterious places where those who grew too close to vampires were dragged off to learn the errors of their ways. What exactly went on there was a secret, one I never wanted to find out. I was pretty sure "re-education" was a nice way of saying "brainwashing." I'd only ever seen one person who had come back, and honestly, she'd seemed like half a person after that. There'd been an almost zombie-like quality to her, and I didn't even want to think about what they might have done to make her that way. My mother's urging to hurry up echoed back through my mind, and I tried to shake off my fears. Remembering her other warning, I also made sure I moved silently. My father was a light sleeper. Normally, it wouldn't matter if he caught us going off on Alchemist errands, but lately, he hadn't been feeling so kindly toward his wife's (and son's) employers. Ever since angry Alchemists had deposited me on my parents' doorstep last month, this household had held all the warmth of a prison camp. Terrible arguments had gone down between my parents, and my brother Joey and I often found ourselves tiptoeing around.

Joey

Why does she need Joey?

The question burned through me as I scurried to get ready. I knew what "presentable" meant. Throwing on jeans and a T-shirt was out of the question. Instead, I tugged on a pair of black trousers and white button-up shirt, a darker colored blazer over the top. A silver chain with a dangled cross—the one I always wore around my neck under my shirt—was the only thing I ever bothered with.

My hair was a slightly bigger problem. Even after only two hours of sleep, it was already looking neat. I teased it up as best I could in the hopes that it would get me through whatever was to come. I had no time for anything more.

The entire process took me all of six minutes, which might have been a new record for me. I sprinted down the stairs in perfect silence, careful, again, to avoid waking my father. The living room was dark, but light spilled out past the not-quite shut door of my mother's study. Taking that as an invitation, I pushed the door open and slipped inside. A hushed conversation stopped at my entrance. My mother eyed me from head to toe and showed her approval at my appearance in the way she knew best: by simply withholding criticism.

"Adrian," she said brusquely. "I believe you know Damon Stanton."

The formidable Alchemist stood near the window, arms crossed, looking as tough and lean as I remembered. I'd spent a lot of time with Stanton recently, though I would hardly say we were friends—especially since certain actions of mine had ended up putting the two of us under a sort of "vampire house arrest." If he harbored any resentment toward me, he didn't show it, though. He nodded to me in polite greeting, his face all business.

Three other Alchemists were there as well, all women. They were introduced to me as Barnes, Michaelson, and Horowitz. Barnes and Michaelson were my mother and Stanton's age. Horowitz was younger, mid-twenties, and was setting up a tattooist's tools. All of them were dressed like me, wearing business casual clothing in nondescript colors. Our goal was always to look nice but not attract notice. The Alchemists had been playing Men in Black for centuries, long before humans dreamed of life on other worlds. When the light hit their faces the right way, each Alchemist displayed a lily tattoo identical to mine.

Again, my unease grew. Was this some kind of interrogation? An assessment to see if my decision to help a renegade half-vampire guy meant my loyalties had changed? I crossed my arms over my chest and schooled my face to neutrality, hoping I looked cool and confident. If I still had a chance to plead my case, I intended to present a solid one. Before anyone could utter another word, Joey entered. He shut the door behind him and peered around in terror, his eyes wide. Our mother's study was huge—she'd had it built as an addition to our house—and it easily held all the occupants. But as I watched my brother take in the scene, I knew he felt stifled and trapped. I met his eyes and tried to send a silent message of sympathy. It must have worked because he scurried to my side, looking only fractionally less afraid.

"Joey," said my mother. She let his name hang in the air in this way she had, making it clear to both of us that she was disappointed. I could immediately guess why. He wore jeans and an old sweatshirt and had his brown hair untended to as mine still looked like it had been paid attention to. By any other person's standards, he would have been "presentable"—but not by her's. I felt him cower against me, and I tried to make myself taller and more protective. After making sure her condemnation was felt, our mother introduced Joey to the others. Stanton gave him the same polite nod he'd given me and then turned toward my mother.

"I don't understand, Jade," said Stanton. "Which one of them are you going to use?"

"Well, that's the problem," my mother said. "Joey was requested … but I'm not sure he's ready. In fact, I know he isn't. He's only had the most basic of training. But in light of Adrian's recent … experiences …"

My mind immediately began to pull the pieces together.

First, and most importantly, it seemed I wasn't going to be sent to a re-education center. Not yet, at least. This was about something else. My earlier suspicion was correct. There was some mission or task afoot, and someone wanted to sub in Joey because he, unlike certain other members of his family, had no history of betraying the Alchemists. My mother was right that he'd only received basic instruction. Our jobs were hereditary, and I had been chosen years ago as the next Alchemist in the Ivashkov family.

My older brother, Carl, had been passed over and was now away at college and too old. She'd taught Joey as backup instead, in the event something happened to me, like a car accident or vampire mauling.

I stepped forward, not knowing what I was going to say until I spoke. The only thing I knew for sure was that I could not let Joey get sucked into the Alchemists' schemes. I feared for his safety more than I did going to a re-education center—and I was pretty afraid of that. "I spoke to a committee about my actions after they happened," I said. "I was under the impression that they understood why I did the things I did. I'm fully qualified to serve in whatever way you need—much more so than my brother. I have real-world experience. I know this job inside and out."

"A little too much real-world experience, if memory serves," said Stanton dryly.

"I for one would like to hear these 'reasons' again," said Barnes, using her fingers to make air quotes. "I'm not thrilled about tossing a half-trained boy out there, but I also find it hard to believe someone who aided a vampire criminal is 'fully qualified to serve.'" More pretentious air quotes.

I smiled back pleasantly, masking my anger. If I showed my true emotions, it wouldn't help my case. "I understand, ma'am. But Dimitri Belikov was eventually proven innocent of the crime he'd been accused of. So, I wasn't technically aiding a criminal. My actions eventually helped find the real murderer."

"Be that as it may, we—and you—didn't know he was 'innocent' at the time," she said.

"I know," I said. "But I believed he was."

Barnes snorted. "And there's the problem. You should've believed what the Alchemists told you, not run off with your own far-fetched theories. At the very least, you should've taken what evidence you'd gathered to your superiors."

Evidence? How could I explain that it wasn't evidence that had driven me to help Dimitri so much as a feeling in my gut that he was telling the truth? But that was something I knew they'd never understand. All of us were trained to believe the worst of his kind. Telling them that I had seen truth and honesty in him wouldn't help my cause here.

Telling them that I'd been blackmailed into helping him by another vampire was an even worse explanation. There was only one argument that the Alchemists might possibly be able to comprehend.

"I … I didn't tell anyone because I wanted to get all the credit for it. I was hoping that if I uncovered it, I could get a promotion and a better assignment."

It took every ounce of self-control I had to say that lie straight-faced. I felt humiliated at making such an admission. As though ambition would really drive me to such extreme behaviors! It made me feel slimy and shallow.

But, as I'd suspected, this was something the other Alchemists could understand.

Michaelson snorted. "Misguided, but not entirely unexpected for his age."

The other women shared equally condescending looks, even my mother. Only Stanton looked doubtful, but then, he'd witnessed more of the fiasco than they had. My mother glanced among the others, waiting for further comment.

When none came, she shrugged. "If no one has any objections, then, I'd rather we use Adrian. Not that I even entirely understand what you need him for." There was a slightly accusing tone in her voice over not having been filled in yet. Jade Ivashkov didn't like to be left out of the loop.

"I have no problem with using the older boy," said Barnes. "But keep the younger one around until the others get here, in case they have any objections."

I wondered how many "others" would be joining us. My mother's study was no stadium. Also, the more people who came, the more important this case probably was. My skin grew cold as I wondered what the assignment could possibly be. I'd seen the Alchemists cover up major disasters with only one or two people. How colossal would something have to be to require this much help?

Horowitz spoke up for the first time. "What do you want me to do?"

"Re-ink Adrian," said Stanton decisively. "Even if he doesn't go, it won't hurt to have the spells reinforced. No point in inking Joey until we know what we're doing with him."

My eyes flicked to my brother's noticeably bare—and pale—cheeks. Yes. As long as there was no lily there, he was free. Once the tattoo was emblazoned on your skin, there was no going back. You belonged to the Alchemists.

The reality of that had only hit me in the last year or so. I'd certainly never realized it while growing up. My mother had dazzled me from a very young age about the rightness of our duty. I still believed in that rightness but wished she'd also mentioned just how much of my life it would consume.

Horowitz had set up a folding table on the far side of my father's study. She patted it and gave me a friendly smile.

"Step right up," she told me. "Get your ticket."

Barnes shot her a disapproving look. "Please. You could show a little respect for this ritual, Dee."

Horowitz merely shrugged. She helped me lie down, and though I was too afraid of the others to openly smile back; I hoped my gratitude showed in my eyes. Another smile from her told me she understood. Turning my head, I watched as Barnes reverently set a black briefcase on a side table. The other Alchemists gathered around and clasped their hands together in front of them. She must be the hierophant, I realized. Most of what the Alchemists did was rooted in science, but a few tasks required divine assistance. After all, our core mission to protect humanity was rooted in the belief that vampires were unnatural and went against God's plan. That's why hierophants—our priests—worked side by side with our scientists.

"Oh Lord," she intoned, closing her eyes. "Bless these elixirs. Remove the taint of the evil they carry so that their life-giving power shines through purely to us, your servants."

He opened the briefcase and removed four small vials, each filled with dark red liquid. Labels that I couldn't read marked each one. With a steady hand and practiced eye, Barnes poured precise amounts from each vial into a larger bottle. When she'd used all four, she produced a tiny packet of powder that she emptied into the rest of the mix. I felt a tingle in the air, and the bottle's contents turned to gold. She handed the bottle to Horowitz, who stood ready with a needle. Everyone relaxed, the ceremonial part complete. I obediently turned away, exposing my cheek. A moment later, Horowitz's shadow fell over me. "This will sting a little, but nothing like when you originally got it. It's just a touchup," she explained kindly.

"I know," I said. I'd been re-inked before. "Thanks."

The needle pricked my skin, and I tried not to wince. It did sting, but like she'd said, Horowitz wasn't creating a new tattoo. She was simply injecting small amounts of the ink into my existing tattoo, recharging its power. I took this as a good sign. Joey might not be out of danger yet, but surely they wouldn't go to the trouble of re-inking me if they were just going to send me to a re-education center.

"Can you brief us on what's happening while we're waiting?" asked my mother. "All I was told was that you needed a teen boy." The way she said it made it sound like a disposable role. I fought back a wave of anger at my mother.

That's all we were to her.

"We have a situation," I heard Stanton say. Finally, I'd get some answers. "With the Moroi."

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Better them than the Strigoi. Any "situation" the Alchemists faced always involved one of the vampire races, and I'd take the living, non-killing ones any day. They almost seemed human at times (though I'd never tell anyone here that) and lived and died like we did. Strigoi, however, were twisted freaks of nature. They were undead, murderous vampires created either when a Strigoi forcibly made a victim drink its blood or when a Moroi purposely took the life of another through blood drinking. A situation with the Strigoi usually ended with someone dead.

All sorts of possible scenarios played through my mind as I considered what issue had prompted action from the Alchemists tonight: a human who had noticed someone with fangs, a feeder who had escaped and gone public, a Moroi treated by human doctors…. Those were the kinds of problems we Alchemists faced the most, ones I had been trained to handle and cover up with ease. Why they would need "a teenager" for any of those, however, was a mystery.

"You know that they elected their new king last month," said Barnes. I could practically see her rolling his eyes.

Everyone in the room murmured affirmatively. Of course they knew about that. The Alchemists paid careful attention to the political goings-on of the Moroi. Knowing what vampires were doing was crucial to keeping them secret from the rest of humanity—and keeping the rest of humanity safe from them. That was our purpose, to protect our brethren. Know thy enemy was taken very seriously with us. The guy the Moroi had elected king, Christian Ozera, was eighteen, just like me.

"Don't tense," said Horowitz gently.

I hadn't realized I had been. I tried to relax, but thinking of Chrisitan Ozera made me think of Dimitri Belikov. Uneasily, I wondered if maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to assume I was out of trouble here. Mercifully, Barnes simply kept going with the story, not mentioning my indirect connection to the new king and his associates.

"Well, as shocking as that is to us, it's been just as shocking to some of their own people. There's been a lot of protests and dissidence. No one's tried to attack the Ozera boy, but that's probably because he's so well guarded. His enemies, it seems, have therefore found a work-around: his brother."

"Joel," I said, speaking before I could stop myself. Horowitz tsked me for moving, and I immediately regretted drawing attention to myself and my knowledge of the Moroi.

Nevertheless, an image of Joel Mastrano flashed into my mind, tall and annoyingly slim like all Moroi, with big, pale green eyes that always seemed nervous. And he had good reason to be. At fifteen, Joel had discovered he was Christian's illegitimate brother, making him the only other member of their royal family's line. He too was tied to the mess I'd gotten myself into this summer.

"You know their laws," continued Stanton, after a moment of awkward silence. His tone conveyed what we all thought of Moroi laws. An elected monarch? It made no sense, but what else could one expect from unnatural beings like vampires? "And Christian must have one family member in order to hold his throne. Therefore, his enemies have decided if they can't directly remove him, they'll remove his family."

A chill ran down my spine at the unspoken meaning, and I again commented without thinking. "Did something happen to Joel?" This time, I'd at least chosen a moment when Horowitz was refilling her needle, so there was no danger of messing up the tattoo.

I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying anything else, imagining the chastisement in my mother's eyes. Showing concern for a Moroi was the last thing I wanted to do, considering my uncertain status. I didn't have any strong attachment to Joel, but the thought of someone trying to kill a fifteen-year-old boy—the same age as Joey—was appalling, no matter what race he belonged to.

"That's what's unclear," Stanton mused. "He was attacked, we know that much, but we can't tell if he received any real injury. Regardless, he's fine now, but the attempt happened at their own Court, indicating they have traitors at high levels."

Barnes snorted in disgust. "What can you expect? How their ridiculous race has managed to survive as long as they have without turning on each other is beyond me."

There were mutters of agreement.

"Ridiculous or not, though, we cannot have them in civil war," said Stanton. "Some Moroi have acted out in protest, enough that they've caught the attention of human media. We can't allow that. We need their government stable, and that means ensuring this boy's safety. Maybe they can't trust themselves, but they can trust us."

There was no use in my pointing out that the Moroi didn't really trust the Alchemists. But, since we had no interest in killing off the Moroi monarch or her family, I supposed that made us more trustworthy than some.

"We need to make the boy disappear," said Michaelson. "At least until the Moroi can undo the law that makes Christian's throne so precarious. Hiding Mastrano with his own people isn't safe at the moment, so we need to conceal him among humans." Disdain dripped from his words. "But it's imperative he also remains concealed from humans. Our race cannot know theirs exists."

"After consultation with the guardians, we've chosen a location we all believe will be safe for him—both from Moroi and Strigoi," said Stanton. "However, to make sure he—and those with him-remain undetected, we're going to need Alchemists on hand, dedicated solely to his needs in case any complications come up."

My mother scoffed. "That's a waste of our resources. Not to mention unbearable for whoever has to stay with him."

I had a bad feeling about what was coming.

"This is where Adrian comes in," said Stanton. "We'd like him to be one of the Alchemists that accompanies Joel into hiding."

"What?" exclaimed my mother. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Stanton's tone was calm and level. "They're close in age, so being together won't raise suspicion. And Adrian already knows the guy. Surely spending time with him won't be as 'unbearable' as it might be for other Alchemists."

The subtext was loud and clear. I wasn't free of my past, not yet. Horowitz paused and lifted the needle, allowing me the chance to speak. My mind raced. Some response was expected. I didn't want to sound too upset by the plan. I needed to restore my good name among the Alchemists and show my willingness to follow orders. That being said, I also didn't want to sound as though I were too comfortable with vampires or their half-human counterparts, the dhampirs.

"Spending time with any of them is never fun," I said carefully, keeping my voice cool and haughty. "Doesn't matter how much you do it. But I'll do whatever's necessary to keep us—and everyone else—safe." I didn't need to explain that "everyone" meant humans.

"There, you see, Jade?" Barnes sounded pleased with the answer. "The boy knows his duty. We've made a number of arrangements already that should make things run smoothly, and we certainly wouldn't send him there alone—especially since the Moroi boy won't be alone either."

"What do you mean?" My mother still didn't sound happy about any of this, and I wondered what was upsetting her the most. Did she truly think I might be in danger? Or was she simply worried that spending more time with the Moroi would turn my loyalties even more? "How many of them are coming?"

"They're sending a dhampir," said Michaelson. "One of their guardians, which I really don't have a problem with. The location we've chosen should be Strigoi free, but if it's not, better they fight those monsters than us." The guardians were specially trained dhampirs who served as bodyguards.

"There you are," Horowitz told me, stepping back. "You can sit up."

I obeyed and resisted the urge to touch my cheek. The only thing I felt from her work was the needle's sting, but I knew powerful magic was working its way through me, magic that would give me a superhuman immune system and prevent me from speaking about vampire affairs to ordinary humans. I tried not to think about the other part, about where that magic came from. The tattoos were a necessary evil.

The others were still standing, not paying attention to me—well, except for Joey. He still looked confused and afraid and kept glancing anxiously my way.

"There also may be another Moroi coming along," continued Stanton. "Honestly, I'm not sure why, but they were very insistent she be with Mastrano. We told them the fewer of them we had to hide, the better, but … well, they seemed to think it was necessary and said they'd make arrangements for her there. I think she's some Sage. Irrelevant."

"Where is there?" asked my mother. "Where do you want to send him?"

Excellent question. I'd been wondering the same thing.

My first full-time job with the Alchemists had sent me halfway around the world, to Russia. If the Alchemists were intent on hiding Joel, there was no telling what remote location they'd send him to. For a moment, I dared to hope we might end up in my dream city: Rome. Legendary works of art and Italian food seemed like a good way to offset paperwork and vampires.

"Palm Springs," said Barnes.

"Palm Springs?" I echoed. That was not what I'd been expecting. When I thought of Palm Springs, I thought of movie stars and golf courses. Not exactly a Roman holiday, but not the Arctic either.

A small, wry smile tugged at Stanton's lips. "It's in the desert and receives a lot of sunlight. Completely undesirable for Strigoi."

"Wouldn't it be undesirable for Moroi too?" I asked, thinking ahead.

Moroi didn't incinerate in the sun like Strigoi, but excessive exposure to it still made Moroi weak and sick.

"Well, yes," admitted Stanton. "But a little discomfort is worth the safety it provides. So long as the Moroi spend most of their time inside, it won't be a problem. Plus, it'll discourage other Moroi from coming and—"

The sound of a car door opening and slamming outside the window caught everyone's attention. "Ah," said Michaelson. "There are the others. I'll let them in."

She slipped out of the study and presumably headed toward the front door to admit whoever had arrived.

Moments later, I heard a new voice speaking as Michaelson returned to us.

"Well, Mom couldn't make it, so she just sent me," the new voice was saying.

The study door opened, and my heart stopped.

No, I thought. Anyone but her.

"Jade," said the newcomer, catching sight of my mother.

"Great to see you again."

My mother, who had barely spared me a glance all night, actually smiled. "Katarina! I'd been wondering how you've been." The two of them hugged, and a wave of disgust rolled through me.

"This is Katarina Darnell," said Michaelson, introducing her to the others.

"Taylor Darnell's daughter?" asked Barnes, impressed.

Taylor Darnell was a legendary leader among the Alchemists.

"The same," said Katarina cheerfully. She was about five years older than me, with blond hair a shade lighter than mine. I knew a lot of guys thought she was attractive. Me? I found her vile. She was pretty much the last person I'd expected to see here.

"And I believe you know the Ivashkov brothers," added Michaelson.

Katarina turned her blue eyes first to Joey, eyes that were just fractionally different from each other in color. One eye, made of glass, stared blankly ahead and didn't move at all.

The other one winked at him as her grin widened.

She can still wink, I thought furiously. That annoying, stupid, condescending wink! But then, why wouldn't she?

We'd all heard about the accident she'd had this year, an accident that had cost her an eye. She'd still survived with one good one, but somehow, in my mind, I'd thought the loss of an eye would stop that infuriating winking.

"Little Joey! Look at you, all grown up," she said fondly. I'm not a violent person, not by any means-especially not to women, but I suddenly wanted to hit her for looking at my brother that way.

He managed a smile for her, clearly relieved to see a familiar face here. When Katarina turned toward me, however, all that charm and friendliness vanished. The feeling was mutual.

The burning, black hatred building up inside of me was so overwhelming that it took me a moment to formulate any sort of response. "Hello, Katarina," I said stiffly.

Katarina didn't even attempt to match my forced civility. She immediately turned toward the senior Alchemists. "What is he doing here?"

"We know you requested Joey," said Stanton levelly, "but after consideration, we decided it would be best if Adrian fulfill this role. His experience dwarfs any concerns about his past actions."

"No," said Katarina swiftly, turning that steely blue gaze back on me. "There is no way he can come; no way am I trusting some twisted _vamp lover_ to screw this up for all of us. We're taking his brother."


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to Palm Springs was agony.

I was exhausted from being dragged out of bed, and even when Katarina took over the wheel, I couldn't fall asleep. I had too much on my mind: Joey, my reputation, the mission at hand…. My thoughts spun in circles. I just wanted to fix all the problems in my life. Katarina's driving did nothing to make me less anxious.

I was also upset because my mother hadn't let me say goodbye to my dad. She'd gone on and on about how we should just let him sleep, but I knew the truth. She was afraid that if he knew I was leaving, she'd try to stop us. He'd been furious after my last mission: I'd gone halfway around the world alone, only to be returned with no clue as to what my future held. My dad had thought the Alchemists had used me badly and had told my mother it was just as well they seemed to be done with me. I don't know if he really could've stood in the way of tonight's plans, but I didn't want to take my chances in case Joey got sent instead of me. I certainly hadn't expected a warm and fuzzy farewell from her, but it felt strange leaving on such unsettled terms with my brother and father.

When dawn came, briefly turning the desert landscape of Nevada into a blazing sea of red and copper, I gave up on sleep altogether and decided to just power through. I bought a twenty-four-ounce cup of coffee from a gas station and assured Katarina I could drive us the rest of the way. She gladly gave up the wheel, but rather than sleep, she bought coffee as well and chatted me up for the remaining hours.

She was still going strong with her new we're-friends attitude, almost making me wish for her earlier animosity. I was determined not to give her any cause to doubt me, so I worked hard to smile and nod appropriately. It was kind of hard to do while constantly gritting my teeth.

Some of the conversation wasn't so bad. I could handle business talk, and we had plenty of details to still work out. She told me all he knew about the school, and I ate up her description of my future home.

Amberwood Preparatory School was apparently a prestigious place, and I idly wondered if maybe I could treat it as pretend college. By Alchemist standards, I knew all I needed for my job, but something in me always burned for more and more knowledge. I'd had to learn to content myself with my own reading and research, but still, college—or even just being around those who knew more and had something to teach me—had long been a fantasy of mine.

As a "senior," I would have off-campus privileges, and one of our first orders of business—after securing fake IDs —was to get me a car. Knowing I wouldn't be trapped at a boarding school made things a bit more bearable, even though it was obvious that half of Katarina's enthusiasm for getting me my own transportation was to make sure I could shoulder any work that came along with the job.

Katarina also enlightened me about something I hadn't realized—but probably should have. "You and that Joel boy are being enrolled as brothers," she said.

"What?" It was a measure of my self-control that my hold on the car never wavered. Living with a vampire was one thing—but being related to one? "Why?" I demanded.

I saw her shrug in my periphery. "Why not? It explains why you'll be around him so much—and is a good excuse for you to be roommates. Normally, the school doesn't pair students who are different ages, but … well … your 'parents' promised a hefty donation that made them change their normal policy."

I was so stunned that I didn't even have my normal gut reaction to slap her upside the head when she concluded with her self-satisfied chuckle. I'd known we'd be living together … but

brothers? It was … weird. No, not just that. Outlandish.

"That's crazy," I said at last, still too shocked to come up with a more eloquent response.

"It's just on paper," she said.

True. But something about being cast as a vampire relative threw my whole order off. I prided myself on the way I'd learned to behave around vampires, but part of that came from the strict belief that I was an outsider, a business associate distinct and removed. Playacting as

Joel's brother destroyed those lines. It brought about a familiarity that I wasn't sure I was ready for.

"Living with one of them shouldn't be so bad for you," Katarina commented, drumming her fingers against the window in a way that put my nerves on edge. Something about the too-casual way she spoke made me think she was leading me into a trap. "You're used to it."

"Hardly," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I was with them for a week at most. And actually, most of my time was spent with dhampirs."

"Same difference," she replied dismissively. "If anything, the dhampirs are worse. They're abominations. Not human, but not full vampires. Products of unnatural unions."

I didn't respond right away and instead pretended to be deeply interested in the road ahead. What she said was true, by Alchemist teaching. I'd been raised believing that both races of vampires, Moroi and Strigoi, were dark and wrong. They needed blood to survive. What kind of person drank from another? It was disgusting, and just thinking about how I'd soon be ferrying Moroi to their feedings made me ill.

But the dhampirs … that was a trickier matter. Or at least, it was for me now. The dhampirs were half human and half vampire, created at a time when the two races had mingled freely. Over the centuries, vampires had pulled away from humans, and both of our races now agreed that those kinds of unions were taboo. The dhampir race had persisted against all odds, however, in spite of the fact that dhampirs couldn't reproduce with each other. They could with Moroi or humans, and plenty of Moroi were up to the task.

"Right?" asked Katarina.

I realized she was staring at me, waiting for me to agree with her about dhampirs being abominations—or maybe she was hoping I would disagree. Regardless, I'd been quiet for too long.

"Right," I said. I mustered the standard Alchemist rhetoric. "In some ways, they're worse than the Moroi. Their race was never meant to exist."

"You scared me there for a second," Katarina said. I was watching the road but had a sneaking suspicion she'd just winked at me. "I thought you were going to defend them. I should've known better than to believe the stories about you. I can totally get why you'd want to gamble at the glory—but man, that had to have been harsh, trying to work with one of them."

I couldn't explain how once you'd spent a little time with

Dimitri Belikov, it was easy to forget he was a dhampir.

Even physically, dhampirs and humans were virtually indistinguishable. Dimitri was so full of life and passion that sometimes he seemed more human than I was. Dimitri certainly wouldn't have meekly accepted this job with a simpering, "Yes, ma'am." Not like me.

Dimitri hadn't even accepted being locked in jail, with the weight of the Moroi government against her. Ayla Mazur's blackmail had been a catalyst that spurred me to help him, but I'd also never believed that Dimitri had committed the murder they'd accused him of. That certainty, along with our fragile friendship, had driven me to break Alchemist rules to help Dimitri and his dhampir girlfriend, the formidable Dimitrimarie Hathaway, elude the authorities. Throughout it all, I'd watched Dimitri with a kind of wonder as he battled the world. I couldn't envy someone who wasn't human, but I could certainly envy his strength—and refusal to back down, no matter what.

But again, I could hardly tell Katarina any of that. And I still didn't believe for an instant, despite her sunny act, that she was suddenly okay with me coming along.

I gave a small shrug. "I thought it was worth the risk."

"Well," she said, seeing I wasn't going to offer anything more. "The next time you decide to go rogue with vampires and dhampirs, get a little backup so you don't get in as much trouble."

I scoffed. "I have no intention of going rogue again." That, at least, was the truth.

We reached Palm Springs late in the afternoon and got to work immediately with our tasks. I was dying for sleep by that point, and even Katarina—despite her talkativeness— looked a little worn around the edges. But we'd gotten the word that Joel and her entourage were arriving tomorrow, leaving very little time to put the remaining details in place.

A visit to Amberwood Prep revealed that my "family" was expanding. Apparently, the dhampir coming with Joel was enrolling as well and would be playing our sister. Katarina was also going to be our sister. When I questioned that, she explained that we needed someone local to act as our legal guardian should Joel or any of us need to be pulled from school or granted some privilege. Since our fictitious parents lived out of state, getting results from her would be faster. I couldn't fault the logic, even though I found being related to her more repulsive than having dhampirs or vampires in the family. And that was saying a lot.

Later on, a driver's license from a reputable fake ID maker declared that I was now Adrian Kyle MelDimitri, from South Dakota. We chose South Dakota because we figured the locals didn't see too many licenses from that state and wouldn't be able to spot any flaws in it. Not that I expected there to be. The Alchemists didn't associate with people who did second-rate work. I also liked the picture of Mount Rushmore on the license. It was one of the few places in the United States that I'd never been.

The day wrapped up with what I had most been looking forward to: a trip to a car dealer. Katarina and I did almost as much haggling with each other as we did with the saleswoman. I'd been raised to be practical and keep my emotions in check, but I loved cars. That was one of the few legacies I'd picked up from my dad. He was a mechanic, and some of my best childhood memories were of working in the garage with him.

I especially had a weakness for sports cars and vintage cars, the kinds with big engines that I knew were bad for the environment—but that I guiltily loved anyway. Those were out of the question for this job, though. Katarina argued that I needed something that could hold everyone, as well as any cargo—and that wouldn't attract a lot of attention. Once more, I conceded to her reasoning like a good little Alchemist.

"But I don't see why it has to be a station wagon," I told her.

Our shopping had led us down to a new Subaru Outback that met most of her requirements. My car instincts told me the Subaru would do what I needed. It would handle well and had a decent engine, for what it was. And yet …

"I feel like a soccer mom," I said. "I'm too young for that. And not the right sex."

"Soccer moms drive vans," Katarina told me. "And there's nothing wrong with soccer."

I scowled. "Does it have to be brown, though?"

It did, unless we wanted a used one. As much as I would've liked something in blue or red, the newness took precedence. My fastidious nature didn't like the idea of driving "someone else's" car. I wanted it to be mine—shiny, new, and clean. So, we made the deal, and I, Adrian MelDimitri, became the proud owner of a brown station wagon. I named it Latte, hoping my love of coffee would soon transfer to the car.

Once our errands were done, Katarina left me for her apartment in downtown Palm Springs. She offered to let me stay there as well, but I'd politely refused and gotten a hotel room, grateful for the Alchemists' deep pockets. Honestly, I would've paid with my own money to save me from sleeping under the same roof as Katarina Darnell.

I ordered a light dinner up to my room, relishing the alone time after all those hours in the car with Katarina. Then I changed into pajamas and decided to call my dad. Even though I was glad to be free of my mother's disapproval for a while, I would miss having him around.

"Those are good cars," he told me after I began the call by explaining my trip to the dealership. My father had always been a free spirit, which was an unlikely match for someone like my mom. While she'd been teaching me chemical equations, he'd showed me how to change my own oil. Alchemists didn't have to marry other Alchemists, but I was baffled by whatever forces had drawn my parents together. Maybe my mother had been less uptight when she was younger.

"I guess," I said, knowing I sounded sullen. My father was one of the few people I could be anything less than perfect or content around. He was a big advocate of letting your feelings out. "I think I'm just annoyed that I didn't have much say in it."

"Annoyed? I'm furious that she didn't even talk to me about it," he huffed. "I can't believe she just smuggled you out like that! You're my son, not some commodity that she can just move around." For a moment, my father reminded me weirdly of Dimitri—both possessed that unflinching tendency to say what was on their minds. That ability seemed strange and exotic to me, but sometimes— when I thought about my own carefully controlled and reserved nature—I wondered if maybe I was the weird one.

"She didn't know all the details," I said, automatically defending her. With my mother's temper, if my parents were mad at each other, then life at home would be unpleasant for Joey—not to mention my dad. Better to ensure peace.

"They hadn't told her everything."

"I hate them sometimes." There was a growl in my dad's voice. "Sometimes I hate her too."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I resented my mother, sure, but she was still my mother. A lot of the hard choices she made were because of the Alchemists, and I knew that no matter how stifled I felt sometimes, the Alchemists' job was important. Humans had to be protected from the existence of vampires. Knowing vampires existed would create a panic. Worse, it could drive some weak-willed humans into becoming slaves to the Strigoi in exchange for immortality and the eventual corruption of their souls. It happened more often than we liked to admit.

"It's fine, Dad," I said soothingly. "I'm fine. I'm not in trouble anymore, and I'm in the U.S. even." Actually, I wasn't sure if the "trouble" part was really true, but I thought the latter would soothe him. Stanton had told me to keep our location in Palm Springs secret, but giving up that we were domestic wouldn't hurt too much and might make my dad think I had an easier job ahead of me than I likely did. He and I talked a little bit more before hanging up, and he told me he'd heard from my brother Carl. All was well with him at college, which I was relieved to hear. I wanted desperately to find out about Joey as well but resisted asking to talk to him. I was afraid that if he got on the phone, I'd find out he was still mad at me. Or, worse, that he wouldn't speak to me at all.

I went to bed feeling melancholy, wishing I could have poured out all my fears and insecurities to my dad.

After a long sleep, and with the morning sunlight streaming through my window, I felt a little better. I had a job to do, and having purpose shifted me out of feeling sorry for myself. I remembered that I was doing this for Joey, for Moroi and humans alike. It allowed me to center myself and push my insecurities aside—at least, for now.

I picked up Katarina around noon and drove us outside of the city to meet Joel and the recluse Moroi who'd be helping us. Katarina had a lot to say about the girl, whose name was Charice Donahue. Charice had lived in Palm Springs for three years, ever since the death of her nephew in Los

Angeles, which had apparently had quite a traumatic effect on the woman. Katarina had met her a couple of times on past jobs and kept making jokes about Charice's tenuous grip on sanity.

"She's a few pints short of a blood bank, you know?" Katarina said, chuckling to herself. I bet she'd been waiting days to use that line.

The jokes were in poor taste—and stupid to boot—but as we got closer and closer to Charice's home, Katarina eventually became very quiet and nervous. Something occurred to me.

"How many Moroi have you met?" I asked as we pulled off the main road and turned into a long and winding driveway. The house was straight out of a Gothic movie, boxy and made of gray bricks that were completely at odds with most of the Palm Springs architecture we'd scene. The only reminder that we were in southern California was the ubiquitous palm trees surrounding the house. It was a weird juxtaposition.

"Enough," said Katarina evasively. "I can handle being around them."

The confidence in her tone sounded forced. I realized that despite her brashness about this job, her comments on the Moroi and dhampir races, and his judgment of my actions, Katarina was actually very, very uncomfortable with the idea of being around non-humans. It was understandable. Most

Alchemists were.

Admittedly, it would've been a little easier if Charice's house didn't look so much like a creepy haunted manor from a horror movie.

We walked up to the door, presenting a united front in our stylish, formal Alchemist attire. Whatever her faults, Katarina cleaned up well. She wore a brown skirt, tights, and a cap-sleeved blouse scattered with tan flowers, though I doubted that was helping much in the heat. It was early

September, and the temperature had been pushing ninety when I left my hotel. I was equally hot in khaki pants with a white button-up shirt and navy silk tie. The shirt had short sleeves.

Belatedly, I realized we kind of matched.

Katarina lifted her hand to knock at the door, but it opened before she could do anything. I flinched, a bit unnerved despite the assurances I'd just given myself.

The girl who opened the door looked just as surprised to see us. She held a cigarette pack in one hand and appeared as though she'd been heading outside to smoke.

She paused and gave us a once-over.

"So. Are you guys here to convert me or sell me siding?"

The disarming comment was enough to help me shake off my anxiety. The speaker was a Moroi girl, a little older than me, with dark brown hair that had undoubtedly been painstakingly styled to look like she had just finished having sex. Unlike Katarina's ridiculously over-gelled attempts, this girl had actually done it in a way that looked good. Like all Moroi, she was pale and had a lean build. Emerald green eyes studied us from a face that could have been sculpted by one of the classical artists I so admired. Shocked, I dismissed the comparison as soon as it popped into my head. This was a vampire, after all. It was ridiculous to admire her the way I would some hot human girl.

"Miss. Ivashkov," I said politely. "It's nice to see you again."

She frowned and studied me from her smaller height. "I know you. How do I know you?"

"We—" I started to say "met" but realized that wasn't quite right since we hadn't been formally introduced the last time I had seen her. She'd simply been present when Stanton and I had been hauled to the Moroi Court for questioning. "We ran into each other last month. At your Court."

Recognition lit her eyes. "Right. The Alchemist." She thought for a moment and then surprised me when she pulled up my name. With everything else that had been going on when I was at the Moroi Court, I hadn't expected to make an impression. "Adrian Ivashkov."

I nodded, trying not to feel flustered at the recognition.

Then I realized Katarina had frozen up beside me. She'd claimed she could "handle" being around Moroi, but apparently, that meant staring gape-mouthed and not saying a word. Keeping a pleasant smile on, I said, "Katarina, this is Sydney Sage. Sydney, this is my colleague, Katarina Darnell."

Sydney held out her hand, but Katarina didn't shake it.

Whether that was because Katarina was still shell-shocked or because she simply didn't want to touch a vampire, I couldn't say. Sydney didn't seem to mind. She dropped her hand and took out a lighter, stepping past us as she did. He nodded toward the doorway.

"They're waiting for you. Go on in." Sydney leaned close to Katarina's ear and her hand jabbed her ribs while yelling, "Boo!"

Katarina nearly leapt ten feet in the air. Sydney chuckled and strolled off down a garden path, lighting her cigarette as she walked. I struggled not to laugh at Sydney's immaturity or Katarina's jumpiness.

"Come on," I said as I nudged Katarina toward the door.

The coolness of air conditioning brushed against me.

If nothing else, Katarina seemed to have come alive. "What was that about?" she demanded as we stepped into the house. She nearly attacked me!"

I shut the door. "It was about you looking like an idiot. Andshe didn't do a thing to you. Could you have acted any more terrified? They know we don't like them, and you looked like you were ready to bolt."

Admittedly, I kind of liked seeing Katarina caught off guard, but human solidarity left no question about which side I was on.

"I did not," argued Katarina, though she was obviously embarrassed. We walked down a long hallway with dark wood floors and trim that seemed to absorb all light. "God, what is wrong with these people? Oh, I know. They aren't people."

"Hush," I said, a bit shocked at the vehemence in her voice. "They're right in there. Can't you hear them?"

Heavy French doors met us at the end of the hall. The glass was frosted and stained, obscuring what was inside, but a low murmur of voices could still be heard. I knocked on the door and waited until a voice called an entry. The anger on Katarina's face vanished as the two of us exchanged brief, commiserating looks. This was it. The beginning.

We stepped through.

When I saw who was inside, I had to stop my jaw from dropping like Katarina's had earlier.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I'd mocked Katarina for being afraid around vampires and dhampirs, but now, face-to-face with a group of them, I suddenly felt trapped. The walls threatened to close in on me, and all I could think about were fangs and blood. My world reeled—and not just because of the group's size.

Ayla Mazur was here.

Breathe, Adrian. Breathe, I told myself. It wasn't easy, though. Ayla represented a thousand fears for me, a thousand entanglements I'd gotten myself into.

Slowly, my surroundings crystallized, and I regained control. Ayla wasn't the only one here, after all, and I made myself focus on the others and ignore him.

Three other people sat in the room with him, two of whom I recognized. The unknown, an elderly Moroi with thinning hair, had to be our host,

Charice.

"Adrian!" That was Joel Mastrano, his eyes lighting up with delight. I liked Joel, but I hadn't thought I'd made enough of an impression on the boy to warrant such a welcome. Joel almost looked like he would run up and hug me, and I prayed that he wouldn't. I didn't need Katarina to see that.

More importantly, I didn't need Katarina reporting about that.

Beside Joel was a dhampir, one I knew in the same way I knew Sydney—that is, I'd seen her but had never been introduced. Emma Castile had also been present when I was questioned at the Royal Court and, if memory served, had been in some trouble of her own. For all intents and purposes, she looked human, with an athletic body and face that had spent a lot of time in the sun. His hair was a sandy brown, and her hazel eyes regarded me and Katarina in a friendly—but wary—way. That's how it was with guardians.

They were always on alert, always watching for the next threat. In some ways, I found it reassuring.

My survey of the room soon returned me to Ayla, who had been watching and seemed amused by my obvious avoidance of her. A sly smile spread over her features.

"Why, Mr Ivashkov," she said slowly. "Aren't you going to say hello to me?"

* * *

**A/N: So I went straight to meeting Sydney. The next chapters from here are going to be original! Please review!**


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